Hug, shrug

Public display of affection between Blago and Madigan meant nothing

Gov. Rod Blagojevich showed up late to the
Democrats' national convention in Denver. Most folks arrived before
Monday's official kickoff, but Blagojevich waited until Tuesday, just
in time to attend a reception and then a Wednesday morning breakfast
sponsored by organized labor.

You all know what happened next. At the Tuesday
evening reception, Blagojevich and his lifelong nemesis House Speaker
Michael Madigan held a long sidebar about how they haven't talked in
months, and they agreed to talk some more. Sen. Hillary Clinton's
call for party unity earlier that evening had apparently sunk in.

But the following morning's labor breakfast
brought seemingly stunning developments. At the urging of Congressman Jesse
Jackson, Jr., Madigan and Blagojevich hugged — and it looked almost,
well, genuine. The two enemies who had locked each other in a death vise
for months were smiling, patting each other on the back, while the stunned
partisan crowd roared its approval with an extended standing ovation.

Party elders and labor union leaders were hopeful
that the supposed new era of good feelings meant that the odious Denver
Boot that Blagojevich and Madigan had locked onto all four wheels of state
government years ago would finally be removed by the magic of
Denver's rarefied air. Might a way finally be found to implement the
perennially-stalled multibillion dollar infrastructure program, and patch
the horrific state deficit, and resolve education funding reform, and
provide universal health insurance?

Maybe not.

"It's all theater," confided one
top Blagojevich aide later in the day. A Madigan lieutenant pointed out
that Madigan was the one who walked over to Blagojevich and had to
practically pry the governor out of his seat.

But could it be that the aides de camp hadn't
gotten the message? That very evening, Madigan and Blagojevich continued
their détente by sitting next to each other at the convention.
Perhaps it would just take a while before their top soldiers could be
demobilized and reprogrammed.

Or not.

Blagojevich, Madigan and Senate President Emil Jones
had promised Sen. James Meeks (D-Chicago) that they would sit down and
discuss Meeks' idea to avoid a threatened student boycott of the
Chicago Public Schools. Meeks was proposing a $120 million plan to reform
the state's worst public schools. He flew out to Denver to set up the
confab, then waited for the governor to agree to a meeting time. Madigan
had said he was willing to meet whenever the governor was ready, so it all
depended on Blagojevich.

The call never came.

The governor, it turns out, had flown back to Chicago
to announce huge state budget cuts Thursday morning, including the layoffs
of hundreds of state workers and the closures of several state parks.

All of a sudden it seemed to many like everything had
been some sort of cynical ploy.

There was no inkling that the same governor who
seemed so pleased with the new political thaw was secretly sharpening his
meat ax. He had no time to meet with Meeks for a few minutes, but had
plenty of time to fly back to Chicago to lay off downstate workers.

If Illinoisans listened carefully, they could almost
hear the bile boiling over all the way from Denver.

By the end of the week the only truly happy people
were the House Republicans. They've been closely allied with
Blagojevich on the stalled infrastructure proposal, but have been
simultaneously searching for ways to tie Madigan and his Democratic House
candidates to the horribly unpopular governor, in order to gain some
political advantage this November.

The "hug" photos were all they needed.

Gloated one House GOP operative last week:
"Coming to a mailbox near you!"